


Out the Door and Back Again

by Tabithian



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim starts to realize he may be in over his head around the time the apartment he's been meeting his contact at goes up in a fiery explosion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out the Door and Back Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt from soot-em-up on Tumblr a while back. :D?

“Your organizational system is for crap,” Tim says.

“Shut it, flatfoot,” Steph shoots back. “And stay out of my files, I have them just the way I like them.”

“Look, I'm just saying - “

Steph grabs the laptop from Tim.

“We have an agreement,” she says, no give in her voice. “I leave your cases alone unless you ask for help and you - “

She looks at Tim, eyebrow raised.

“ - Leave your cases alone unless you ask for help,” Tim recites dutifully.

“Exactly,” Steph says. “ _All_ my cases.”

Tim gives her a look for that, and, “You still need a fedora, gumshoe.”

Steph sighs. “I know, right? I haven't found the right one, yet.”

Tim fidgets, not something that's rare for him, exactly, but enough so that Steph notices.

“ _Do_ you need my help?”

He gets flack for being on such good terms with a private investigator down at the station, especially one with the kind of reputation Steph has, but.

“No,” Tim says, well aware of how unconvincing he sounds. “I've got everything under control.”

“Tim - “

“I'll call you if I get in over my head, okay?”

Steph's eyes narrow.

“Okay?”

“Just.” Steph sighs. “Don't get yourself killed, okay?”

Tim can't really promise that, but neither can Steph.

“Deal.”

********

There's no real trick to being a cop in Gotham. Either you're good or you're not, and if you're not you tend to get dead sooner rather than later.

If you're good, though, you tend to find yourself in unusual circumstances more often than not because Gotham. Gotham is what happens when the inmates run the asylum, and no one notices.

Tim starts to realize he may be in over his head around the time the apartment he's been meeting his contact at goes up in a fiery explosion. Tim survives because he was heading up the rickety stairs to the second floor apartment. His contact who was waiting for him wasn't so lucky.

There's a lot of suspicion thrown on him, rumors and gossip, and Tim finds himself on administrative leave. 

Gordon's unhappy about it, but he's got a job to do. 

Tim does what he's told, stays away from reporters and talks to IA when they call him in. Cooperates because this is Gotham and no one likes a dirty cop. (The irony may well kill him this time.)

He goes along with it until someone puts Montoya in ICU using Tim's gun and tries to get rid of Tim in another explosion. This time one that claims his car and half a block in front of Tim's apartment building.

The thing about this, about Gotham? She doesn't back down from a challenge, and neither do her people.

********

“Are you crazy?” Steph asks him as she grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him into her apartment. 

Tim knows better than to struggle, letting her tow him along past the living room and down a short hallway. 

“I had it under control,” he says, blinking when she flips the bathroom lights on. 

It's stupid of him, really, to say that considering the circumstances. Steph seems to agree if the look on her face is anything to go by.

Tim never actually told her what was going with the case that had gotten his contact killed, but given what she does, she found out anyway. He'd had a fight on his hands keeping her out of it, which in hindsight had been a mistake.

“You look the way you smell, Tim.”

Tim grimaces, looking down at himself. Getting across town to Steph's apartment presented its own set of difficulties when his neighborhood was crawling with police officers and emergency response crews.

“There was a sewer,” he starts, only for Steph to shove him towards the shower. 

“Story time later, shower now,” she orders, and closes the door.

Tim looks around for a moment.

“I've still got some of your stuff from the last time you were here!” Steph yells through the door because she knows him that well. “Take a damn shower!”

Tim's history with Steph is. Complicated is one way of putting it. Perfect for a sitcom might be better, though.

********

A long time ago, years and years ago, Tim's parents took him to the circus. 

Most of Gotham knows what happened that particular night, and the ones who don't just have to look it up in the old newspaper archives to find out what happened.

The fact that Tim's parents weren't...the most attentive is also something that can be found in those archives, but it's something people would have to be looking for to see. Nothing like a headline in stark black ink and bold lettering.

Everyone in Gotham knows about Batman and Robin. They get headlines and article after article, year after year. 

Tim's kept track of them - _all_ of them - over the years. From short pants to skirts to tights, and doesn't regret a moment of it because this bizarre relationship he has with Steph came out of it.

The kind where he pretends he doesn't know who Batgirl is, and she pretends one of Gordon's best undercover cops doesn't know who they are.

Usually they're great at that, keeping the lines from blurring. Every so often, though - 

“I'm burning your clothes,” she says, when he shuffles into the living room after his shower.

“Okay,” Tim says.

Steph looks up from where she's trying to clean up a little and sighs. 

“You should have come to me before this,” she says.

Every so often one of them needs a little help. 

“Hey,” Tim says. “I'm still in one piece.” He does a little turn and ends with halfhearted jazz hands. “See? I'm fine.”

“You're an idiot, you know? Drives me crazy.”

Tim has an inkling. “You don't have room to talk.”

“No one wins on this one, okay?” Steph says, throwing her hands up. “Also, I'm a superhero. You're just a flatfoot.”

Tim snorts, mouth turning up just the smallest bit. “All right, Sam Spade - “

“Shut up,” Steph says, eyes narrowing. “What do you need?”

********

What Tim needs is information, proof that he's innocent, that someone else is trying to put this whole damn mess on him. 

Cut off from his usual resources and support, he went to Steph. One of the people on the very short list of people he knows he can trust implicitly.

The problem here is that someone clearly wants Tim dead. Whether it's due to the fact that Tim makes a good fall guy or he knows too much doesn't matter. What does matter is the part where there's a small window of opportunity for him to move before the authorities realize he wasn't in his car when it blew up.

Tim's good at working undercover, which can be a problem sometimes.

He's run into Nightwing several times now over the course of this case before it blew up in his face. Trying to pin down a new smuggling operation. Whoever is in charge is smart, smart enough to stay under everyone's radar until they'd gotten a decent foothold in Gotham's underworld. 

Tim hadn't managed to make much headway despite his best efforts. His contact had claimed to have new information for him when he was killed.

“Who are you?”

Tim grins, even though it's hard to breathe with Nightwing's forearm pressing into his throat. 

“Just another fan,” he manages, because why not? This isn't his face he's wearing and also, “Sorry.”

Nightwing pulls his head back, suspicious, wary, and a dark figure comes sweeping out of the shadows towards them.

Nightwing twists away from him to face the new threat giving Tim the chance to slip away, feeling only a tiny sliver of guilt for this. (He knows Cass was planning on sparring with Nightwing after being away for so long anyway, this is just. Some kind of bonus.)

He hits a fire escape to a building a few blocks away and makes his way up, taking the gloved hand that appears in front of him to help him up the last little bit.

“Fucking hell, kid. Didn't I warn you?”

Tim sighs, wondering why he doesn't just turn himself in. (Wonders what Nightwing's doing in Gotham, why he's poking his nose into this mess, if it has ties in Bludhaven.)

“He got a good look at me,” Tim says instead, as if there was any chance Dick wouldn't with how close to one another they'd been. Like he didn't manage to get a few good pictures of Tim with the camera mask.

Jason stares at him, or at least that's the impression Tim gets from the way he doesn't move, the blank face of the helmet pointed in his direction. 

“You know what that means, right?”

Tim sighs, resigned. 

“You're enjoying this way too much.”

********

For the record? Tim is not a fan of corsets. At all.

“Looking good, kiddo,” Jason says, because he's an ass and really, Tim's pretty sure he should have run him in a long time ago. 

They've crossed paths a time or two in the past, usually with Jason doing his level best to kill Tim when he's working a case and Jason fails to realize it's him. Not that they haven't helped one another out too, but. 

_Jason_.

Cass, perched on the back of the couch wolf whistles while Steph takes pictures, the flash nearly blinding in the tiny apartment.

Tim knows her from the time he spent watching Batman and his Robins. Another bizarre relationship he doesn't bother to look too closely at.

“You're all terrible people.” 

“Smile for the camera, heartbreaker,” Steph crows.

********

The one reassuring thing about this, is that being Jason's arm candy is only slightly less humiliating than running into Nightwing, Dick, dressed up as some scuzzy thug. The good news is that Tim has all the information he needs, the bad news is - 

“Hey, beautiful.”

 _Really?_

Tim regrets agreeing to the earpiece, because Steph's running commentary and Cass' silent amusement and Dick's terrible everything.

At least this time he doesn't have Tim backed up against a wall. 

No.

He's just blocking the only way back to the room where Jason's playing cards with some of Gotham's more notorious crime bosses. Tim slipped out of the room not too long ago under the pretense of powdering his nose to look for the information that might lead to the mastermind behind this whole case.

“What are you doing with a guy like that?” Dick asks.

_Aww, that's kind of sweet, really._

It is, actually. Behind the scraggly facial hair and scruffy appearance, Dick's actually concerned, like he thinks Tim's in over his head here and just wants to help.

Tim lets his smile shift to a smirk, and runs a finger down Dick's chest, nails catching on a jacket button. 

“Let's just say he gives me what I need,” he says, tipping his head to the side. He leans in, close enough to smell whatever cheap cologne Dick's wearing. “He's very, very good at that.”

He ignores Steph's muffled laughter because that isn't actually helping, and gently pats Dick's cheek when he steps back.

“Princess,” Jason says. Low and amused, barest hint of a threat in his voice. 

Dick jerks away from Tim, just enough space for Tim to move past. Tim _smiles_ at him, because he's been spending far too much time around terrible human beings as of late.

Dick watches Tim move to Jason's side, watches Jason put an arm around him, heavy and oddly comforting. Jason's hand settles on Tim's hip in a possessive move that has Dick narrowing his eyes. 

“Ready to go?”

Tim looks up at Jason, leaning into him just enough to get him to stop glaring at Dick. “Of course,” he says, wondering what he's done to deserve any of this.

********

“He's been talking about you,” Steph says, waving a mug of coffee in Tim's face. 

“What? Who?” Tim asks, distracted by the encryption of the files he was able to acquire. 

He's overlooking the questionable legality of all of this in favor of bringing whoever is behind it down. 

Everything else can wait.

Except coffee, which he accepts with a mumbled thanks. He's not getting far with the files at the moment, lack of sleep and the strain of the past few weeks weighing heavy on him.

“Nightwing,” Steph says, sitting on the coffee table across from him cradling her own coffee close.

She's still wearing the Batgirl suit, fresh off her nightly patrol. The cowl's down and she definitely looks amused, and maybe a little worried.

“What?”

Steph sighs, leaning forward to flick Tim's forehead. 

“Nightwing,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee. “He's worried about you.”

Tim is. Confused. Very, very confused.

“Which me?” he asks. 

The low-level thug Nightwing cornered in an alley, or Jason's arm candy? Or maybe - 

“Detective Drake,” Steph says, flicking his forehead again. “You realize that's why he's in Gotham, right?”

What.

“Oh my God,” Steph says. “Why are you two such idiots?”

Tim honestly doesn't know what to say to that.

“Tim,” Steph says gently. “Dick likes you, okay? He thinks you're pretty much awesome, and this - “ Steph waves her hand at Tim and his laptop, and out towards Gotham. “This is making him very, very worried.”

“Steph - “

Dick's.

Tim met him an an impressionable age and Dick is _Dick_. 

It's only natural that Tim would develop a. _Something_ for Dick. (Tim doesn't believe in love at first sight, but he's pretty sure whatever this is? It's so much worse.)

Dick was nice to the kid who accompanied his parents to various fundraisers and galas because he's a decent human being. He didn't give the kid who'd just made detective crap when they worked on a joint case because he's a decent human being. He's worried about that same stupid kid who's in over his head because - 

“It's not because he's a decent human being,” Steph says, because she's heard Tim's ramblings when he's on the good drugs for an injury. Frowns. “I mean, he _is_ , but he's also kind of a dick.”

Tim just stares at her.

“You know what I mean, jerkface.”

Sadly, Tim does.

“Should you be talking about your brother like that?” Or trying to set him up with Tim?

“I give up,” Steph says, walking away.

If only Tim could believe that.

********

This is the part where Tim uses himself as bait to draw out the people behind everything, only.

“Why am I not surprised?” Tim asks when the one of the thugs shoves him into the tiny room serving as a cell.

Tim supposes he should have seen something like this coming, really.

“Detective Drake,” Dick starts, when the thug leaves them alone. He's battered and bruised and bleeding. “Nice to see you're still alive.”

He's also chained to a wall, arms over his head.

Tim's fairly sure Steph and the others will find them in time. Following the signal from the tracker he's not supposed to know about, but there's always the chance they won't. 

Tim looks around the room. Back to Dick who's frowning at him.

“Thanks,” Tim says, belatedly. “I could say the same about you.”

Dick shrugs as best as he's able to given the situation. 

And. Right.

Tim's worked with Dick in both his civilian persona and this one enough that he's starting to think they weren't just coincidences. 

Detective Grayson following a lead to Gotham on a case Tim was working. Nightwing tracking a drug smuggling ring to Gotham. Dick dragging Tim to a Wayne gala to see what the papers would print the next day and to make Bruce get that strained look on his face. The one that Dick told Tim in confidence was Bruce questioning his life choices.

He's not really sure what it means, really, because it's _Dick_.

He's about to say something, probably ill-advised, but that's about the time the shouting and gunfire break out in the main area of the warehouse. Possibly Steph and the others, possibly business rivals.

“Hey,” Dick says, drawing Tim's attention back to him. 

Tim winces when something explodes. Almost certainly Steph and the others.

“Ready to get out of here?” Dick asks, like Tim's the one who's been chained up all this time.

“Sure,” Tim says, moving closer. “Why not.”

Dick grins and tugs at the chains holding him up. “You know where the lock picks are.”

Tim should probably rethink his own life choices because he _does_.

********

Tim hates hospitals. 

There are too many memories tied to them for him. The steady beep of the heart monitor. The sharp smell of the anti-septic used to clean, neutral colors on the walls. 

Waiting for his parents to wake up after that nightmare of a trip to Haiti. 

“Hey,” Tim says, fingers light on the back of Montoya's hand. “You really need to stop slacking, Montoya. Criminals aren't going to arrest themselves.”

She glares at him and very carefully holds up her other hand in an unmistakeable gesture.

Tim smiles. Tired, damn well exhausted.

Everyone's still trying to untangle the mess that got them here, and Tim's pretty much at loose ends for the moment.

Exonerated, yes, but.

He's been rethinking his life choices.

Montoya sighs, glare softening as the drugs in her IV start to drag her back down. She's getting better, but there's a long road ahead of her, and Tim's finding it hard not to blame himself for that. 

He knows their jobs are dangerous, more so in a city like Gotham, but.

“Stupid,” Montoya manages, slurring a little. 

Tim smiles a little. “Yeah,” he says, waiting until she's under to slip out.

The police officers standing guard outside her room eye him suspiciously, which isn't entirely unwarranted. He knows there's a good number of people in Gotham who think he's dirty, that he's walking around because IA didn't have enough evidence to lock him up.

That's not what worries him.

What worries him is the figure that shadows him on his way home, sticking to the rooftops.

Dick's been following him for the last few days, and Tim doesn't know _why_.

He has several theories, but Steph stopped answering his calls after the first four times, and Jason and Cass went to Hong Kong on a case, so no help there.

Tim takes the long way home, feeling Gotham come to life as the sun sinks past the horizon. Bruce and Damian should be out soon, and Dick.

Tim stops at the spot where he used to park his car. Still cordoned off with police tape, the asphalt warped, cracked. 

He should have died that day he went to meet his contact, but he hadn't. He should have died when the bomb went off, but he didn't. Should have been preparing to drive to the hospital to see Montoya, but he hadn't. Probably should have died any number of times he was working towards clearing his name, but he hadn't, and they're just more things he doesn't know the _why_ of.

He looks up, then, and sees Dick above him on the edge of his building's roof looking down at him.

Tim shakes his head and heads inside, ducking under more police tape. The explosion took out part of the lobby, and the owners still haven't called in a construction crew. The tenants are being put up at nearby hotels until then.

He's not surprised to find Dick poking around his apartment when he gets up to it. Fingers running over the books on Tim's bookshelf, studying the few photos he has hanging up. Pauses over the little velvet-lined box from Steph that holds the bullet that almost killed him two years ago. 

Morbid, maybe, but it's one more thing in Gotham that should have killed him and hadn't. 

“Nice place,” Dick says, looking around like he didn't sneak in the other night. Like he hasn't been here before.

“I'd offer you something to drink, but,” Tim shrugs, hands in his pockets. 

Dick picks the box up and opens it.

“I got shot,” Tim says.

Dick had been there, at the hospital afterward. Sitting in a chair by Tim's bed looking tired, worn down, and somehow smiling through it. Telling Tim terrible jokes that made him groan and took his mind off the pain he was in.

“I remember,” Dick says, closing the box and putting it back on the bookshelf.

Tim's eyes narrow.

“The doctors kept telling us it was a miracle you survived,” Dick says, turning to look at Tim. “They kept insisting you'd wake up.”

There's something in his voice that Tim knows all too well. 

“I did,” Tim says, holding his hands out to the side. “Dick, I'm fine.”

Dick makes a noise in his throat and moves toward Tim, slowly, cautiously, like he's worried he'll spook him.

“Steph told me,” Dick says, fingers coming up to touch Tim's neck. 

Tim lets Dick run his fingers over his neck, his throat. Looking for bruising, for signs of injury he might have caused.

 _Sighs_.

“We didn't know who might be watching, Dick,” Tim says, the same thing he tells himself when he works undercover because he has a job to do, and so does Dick.

“ _Jason_ ,” Dick says, and it's almost a growl.

Tim rolls his eyes because _yes_ , Jason. A pain in his ass, for all that Tim feels some sort of fondness towards him. (He blames Gotham, really.)

“It was for the case, Dick,” he says.

Dick sighs, hands dropping back to his side. “You're impossible, you know that, right?”

Tim's heard that a time or two in his life, yes. Mostly from Dick, but never quite like this. Never with the way Dick's looking at him now.

They've known each other for years and Tim's realizing that his _something_ for Dick isn't entirely one-sided. 

“...Says the man wearing the superhero costume.”

Something very close to a growl as Dick crowds Tim up against a wall. “Impossible,” he says again, resting his forehead against Tim's, arms sneaking around him in an embrace.

“Yeah,” Tim says, bringing an arm around Dick's back to pull him closer, smile tugging at his mouth. “I know.”


End file.
